


An Untold Story with a side of Grits

by searchingwardrobes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gone with the Wind - Freeform, Ridiculousness, grits, silliness, yes seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Emma and her boys meet an interesting new patron at Granny's, and Killian tries a new food. Just a little ridiculous drabble that happened because this southern girl had grits for breakfast.





	

**Author's Note:**

> * When you grow up in Georgia, you hear about Gone With the Wind ALL the time (even my name comes from the damn story!), but honestly, I'm not a fan. Just thought I'd confess that before you proceed. I also shockingly don't like sweet tea. However, I do believe all soda is Coke (Pepsi must die), I can't go more than a week without Chick-file-a, and I do love me some grits (if cooked properly). Sadly, I know grits are an acquired taste. All my Yankee friends think they're disgusting.  
> * Yes, grits really are the official breakfast food of the state of Georgia.

              Emma and Killian scanned the diner as they entered, relieved to see two seats open at the counter next to Henry. Every other seat in Granny’s was occupied. Emma patted Henry on the shoulder as she sat next to him, and Henry looked up from the book in front of him with a smile in greeting.

              “Thanks for saving us a seat, kid.”

              “I know! I was lucky to grab these. Ever since the new arrivals came from the Land of Untold Stories, this place has been packed morning, noon, and night.”

              “Speaking of which, have we identified everyone yet?” Killian asked, gesturing towards the large leather tome opened before Henry.

              “It’s impossible to know,” Henry replied with a sigh. “We have no idea how many traveled here. And some of them may not want to reveal who they are.”

              Granny stepped forward with her pad and pencil to take their order. As Emma requested pancakes and a hot chocolate, Killian eyed a steaming bowl being carried to a booth by one of the waitresses.

              “I’d like a bowl of that,” Killian said, gesturing with his thumb towards the retreating waitress.

              Granny gave him a strange look. “You do?”

              “Aye, my mum used to make porridge for me as a lad.”

              Granny snorted. “That’s not porridge. That’s grits.”

              Emma laughed. “This is Maine, not Mississippi. Since when is grits on the menu?”

              Granny rolled her eyes as she set a bowl of white, steaming grits in front of Killian. “Since this morning.”

              Killian lifted a spoonful of the white stuff and blew at the steam before putting it in his mouth. Emma bit down on her lip, stifling a laugh at the look on his face. Good form was probably the only thing forcing him to swallow.

              “What the bloody hell did I just eat!” Killian complained, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with disgust.

              “My sentiments exactly,” spoke a cultured voice, southern accent smooth as honey.

              Emma turned on her stool, mouth agape. _It couldn’t be!_ But as Emma took in the slick, parted black hair, pencil thin mustache, and tailored woolen suit, she feared that it was. _I see Clark Gable was well cast._

              The southern gentleman was still discussing breakfast food with Killian. “You seem like my sort of fellow – a polished gentleman – do you not agree that these grits are a travesty to the South?” the man picked up Killian’s bowl and lifted the spoon to demonstrate. “See how thin they are, how they drip? Grits should _hug_ the spoon! And a scant pat of butter? Scandalous! There should be veritable _pools_ of butter! Of course, these watery things couldn’t hold the butter properly.”

              He slammed the offending bowl of grits on the counter. “I demand to speak to the help!” he thundered.

              _The help?_ Emma groaned and rubbed her temple, praying fervently that Granny didn’t come out with crossbow in hand. Granny marched to the counter, looking down her nose at the man with a withering glare.

              “You bellowed?”

              The man silently sputtered for a moment, throwing his shoulders back. “Ma’am, you should address me as _sir_! Or were you not brought up with good graces?”

              “You bellowed, _sir_?”

              “How did you cook this abysmal excuse for grits?”

              Granny responded to his question by reaching under the counter and pulling out a cardboard canister. Never breaking eye contact with her high and mighty patron, Granny set the canister before him with considerable force. The gentleman lifted the carton, eyeing it with suspicion.

              “ _Quick_ grits!” he thundered. “There is nothing quick about grits! Do you have no respect for the official state breakfast food of Georgia?”

              Granny crossed her arms. “Look mister, this is Maine. I had to send Leroy to the store for your special order, and he was lucky to even find those.”

              Another loud southern accent, this time feminine, cut through the din of the diner. “Rhett Butler!”

              The diner suddenly fell silent and every eye in the place swung towards the entrance. A woman stood in the doorway, tapping one of her cream-colored high heels irately. One hand was at the hip of her perfectly tailored sky blue business dress, while the other twisted the strand of white pearls at her neck. The sweet, demure pink cardigan that completed her outfit contrasted sharply with the fire in her green eyes. She tossed her perfectly styled brunette curls as she spoke.

              “You have some explaining to do,” she seethed.

              “I always wondered what story book character the gossip columnist for _The Mirror_ really was,” Emma muttered.

              “The accent should have been a hint,” Henry agreed.

              Emma looked at her son with a shake of her head. “Is this for real? I mean, is this really my life?”

              Henry gave her a wry grin. “You shouldn’t be surprised mom. I mean, just yesterday we helped Hester Prynne from _The Scarlet Letter_.”

              Meanwhile, Rhett Butler – seriously? – had stood to face the woman shooting daggers at him with her eyes. “Confound it all, woman! Why do you think I paused my story if not to get away from your incessant nagging and tiresome whining?”

              The woman stepped forward. “But Rhett, I love you!”

              Rhett slammed his fist down on the counter. “Well, it’s too late for your pleas, Scarlett. Leave me in peace!” And with that, the man stomped towards his room at the inn.

              Scarlett hurried after him with quick, scurrying steps. “But Rhett, I said I was sorry! Rhett, please!”

              “He wasn’t exaggerating about the whining,” quipped Killian with a grimace at the woman’s high-pitched protestations.

              “Something tells me he doesn’t give a damn,” Henry said, a pleased grin on his face.

              Emma laughed. “Good one, kid.”

              Killian shook his head in confusion. “This has been quite the perplexing morning. First the strangest food I’ve ever put in my mouth – and in this realm that’s saying something, followed by a lover’s quarrel between two odd characters with bizarre accents, and now to top it all off, Swan, you’re praising your lad for swearing. Usually you scold him then give me an accusing look.”

              Emma smiled and placed a quick peck to Killian’s cheek. “It’s a quote, babe. From a story.”

              “Then I take it there’s a movie I must now watch or a book I must procure from Belle?”

              “Oh God, no,” Emma assured him with a wave of her hand. “I’d never put you through that torture. I’ll just give you the Cliff’s notes version.”

              Killian gave her that adorable confused look she loved. “The what?”

              Emma smiled and pulled her confused pirate off his stool. “Don’t worry about it, Killian. All you need to know is their story is just romantic melodrama, nothing more. No monsters, no murderous psychopaths.”

              “Just strange accents, strange food, and sexual tension?”

              Emma gave a little giggle and nodded. She kissed Killian soundly before speaking again.

“Yeah, so they should fit right in.”


End file.
